A Stolen Past

Hermione

Harry Potter sat in History class - the last class of the day - waiting impatiently for the Professor's dismissal. Hurry up, he thought as he glared at the clock on the wall. It seemed to have frozen in place with the class only half over.

Looking to his left, Harry saw Todd Wilkins, one of the boys who had tried to beat him to death a few months earlier, rolling his pencil back and forth on the top of his desk. Harry discretely pointed at the pencil and whispered, "Abigo," causing it to clatter to the ground several feet in front of Wilkins. Wilkins gave the class in general a threatening glare, as though he somehow knew that it had not merely happened by chance, before getting up to retrieve his pencil.

Harry sighed. It had been a stupid, childish prank - one that required no imagination whatsoever - and now he felt bad for having done it. It wasn't that he felt sorry for Wilkins; it was simply the fact that he knew he ought to be using his powers for something worthwhile.

As he left the History classroom half an hour later, though, Harry changed his mind about feeling sorry for having banished Wilkins' pencil during class - the bully deserved everything he got and more. In the middle of the corridor, with boys walking all around, yet refusing to intervene, Todd Wilkins was holding an eleven-year-old high in the air by his collar. The small boy wheezed and kicked his legs, trying to get enough of a breath to call for help, but it was no use. Plenty of people could see what was happening, and nobody was making any sort of move to stop it.

"Hand it over," Wilkins demanded. "I know your precious mummy sent you a ten pound note today, so just give it here and nobody gets hurt."

Enraged at the injustice of the situation, Harry pointed at the sleeve of Wilkins' coat and whispered, "Incendio!" Flames erupted across the other boy's arm as shouts of surprise and horror - mixed with several expletives - filled the corridor. Wilkins dropped the boy and tore the coat from his shoulders, throwing it to the floor and stomping on it to smother the flames. The fire was out within seconds, and Harry - along with the small boy whom Wilkins had been trying to rob - slipped inconspicuously into the crowd of students who were heading to supper.

Supper that evening was a slow, unappetizing affair, as always, and Harry retired to his room early. It surprised him that the staff still hadn't moved him back in with the other boys, although quite honestly he was glad for the security that his cell provided. Had he been unable to leave at will, as the staff believed, he probably would have hated the arrangement. As things really stood, however, he rather liked it.

Just as he had every evening since Hassseth's return from hibernation, Harry finished his homework quickly (and rather sloppily), and then chatted with the small snake in between sets of his nightly workout. Although his muscles had long since recovered from the atrophy that came as a result of spending so much time in a hospital bed at the end of the previous term, he had grown accustomed to the exercises, and so continued doing them. Tonight, however, Harry finished his workout much more quickly than usual, and settled down on the floor to talk with his serpentine friend.

After chatting for some time about the uselessness of school and the difficulties of life as a snake in close proximity with humans, Hassseth inquired, "What's troubling you, Harry?" She curled her body into a tight coil and raised her head up in the air so that she would be able to look him in the eye.

"Nothing," Harry answered, trying to keep his voice even and calm. "Why?"

Hassseth suddenly whipped her head around to the right, flicking her forked tongue rapidly in and out of her mouth.

"Maybe I should be asking what's troubling you," Harry added.

"I smell a rat," hissed the snake. "I'm hungry."